


Snart. Lisa Snart.

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Series: Flarrow Femslash Week 2015 [5]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, a Bond AU where Lisa is 007 Cisco is Q and Iris is the Bond Girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisa gets a mission (and a gun), and by the end she also gets the girl.</p><p>(Written for Flarrow Femslash Week: Day Two.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snart. Lisa Snart.

“Q, honey, tell me you’ve got something good for me.” Lisa strolls into Q Branch—tall, blonde, leggy, and exuding danger in that way that all of the double ohs do. She settles herself onto the edge of the Quartermaster’s desk, flashes him a thousand watt smile—and he beams back, brushes a lock of his (spectacular) hair out of his eyes.

“007, you say that like I don’t always have something good for you.” He hops up, motions her to follow him as he head toward one of the labs. “Don’t try and convince me you didn’t appreciate that suit I made you last time! It was tripolymer with—”

“Q.”

“Right, right, focus on this mission. You’re going to love this, I promise.” He sweeps the white covering off of the table with a flourish, revealing the gun-shaped lump underneath it to, in fact, be a large, elegant gun, black with gold accents.

Lisa moves forward, eyes raking the piece curiously. “What does it fire? It’s certainly not bullets.”

“Gold!” Q shouts. Tilts his head, wrinkles his nose, amends, “Well, it looks like gold, anyway. It’s really a toxic compound fairly similar to superglue.”

“Pretty _and_ toxic?” Lisa picks up the gun, tests its weight with a smirk on her face. “You really do make me the best toys, Cisco.”

He smacks her arm, scowling. “No names at work, babe, you know that!”

“Yeah, yeah.” She tugs him in for a quick hug. “Keep yourself safe while I’m gone, bestie. I don’t trust 004 to watch your back as well as I do.”

“What, Barry?” Q hugs her back, then slips away, shoos her off. “He’s never late when it counts, you know that. Now go save the world, or assassinate someone, or whatever.”

***

Lisa sips her drink, eyes flicking around the room as she scans for her target. (She doesn’t like how smoothly this mission has gone—that she confirmed the target was attending this event within two days of her arrival in Italy, that she conveniently ended up in the same hotel as some rich Croatian woman with an invitation, that she was able to ‘obtain’ the woman’s invitation (and identity) without a single hitch. Her skin is crawling, her nerves stretched taut—she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.)

“I know you’ve got a drink in your hand already, but it seems to be almost gone. Could I buy you another?” The voice is smooth, lovely, American, and Lisa’s lips are already parting to accept the offer before she’s even turned her head—then she does and she loses her train of thought for one glorious second. The woman is stunning—dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, a smile that could light up an entire room, red lips shining with what must be freshly applied lipstick.

“By all means, do,” Lisa says, running on autopilot as the goddess slides up onto the stool next to her.

She flags the bartender with a wave of one hand, leans in towards Lisa with a sparkle in her eyes. “My name is Iris.”

“Snart. Lisa Snart.” Lisa takes the hand Iris has offered her and presses her lips to the back of it, holding eye contact the entire time. Her lips continue to brush the soft skin as she murmurs, “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Iris.”

“And the same to you, Ms. Lisa.” Iris winks, and the bartender clears his throat.

“You beckoned, ma'am?” he says, forced polite. Lisa finally releases Iris’s hand.

“Two of whatever she’s finishing,” Iris tells him, motioning to Lisa’s martini glass with a smile.

Lisa returns the smile—and spots her mark over Iris’s shoulder, finally entering the party. She bites back an annoyed curse- this had to happen just when she was starting to have fun- and lets her smile turn apologetic as she slides off of her stool. “Just one, actually. Unfortunately, there’s some business I’m required to attend to.”

Iris glances over her shoulder- and there’s a flash of emotion that crosses her face, almost too quick for Lisa to identify, her hand shifting ever so slightly in an aborted movement- and then she looks back at Lisa with an understanding but wistful smile. “Actually, the same goes for me. I apologize for taking your time, sir.”

The bartender shakes his head as he moves away—and Lisa and Iris freeze, locking eyes, when they both begin to move in the same direction.

(The flash of recognition, the aborted movement as if moving for a weapon, the accent, the calluses visible on the fingers of both hands—) “CIA, here for Marcielo?” Lisa asks, ever so softly, and the way Iris’s lips quirk ever so slightly is enough of an answer.

“MI6?” she asks in return, and Lisa winks.

“I’ll honeypot. Meet me in suite 306—I assume you won’t need a card?”

“Please.” Iris laughs, and then she’s gone, leaving just the faint taste of her floral perfume floating in the air.

Lisa breezes towards the mark, a sway in her hips that’s really for the American spy she’s sure is still watching. “Abramo,” she greets, practically purrs, and holds out a hand, martini glass held loosely in the other. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

***

“To a mission well done,” Lisa murmurs, smirking at Iris and raising her glass of champagne.

Iris raises her own, one eyebrow raising as she returns, “To international cooperation.”

They clink their glasses, using the excuse to move closer to each other, thighs and shoulders nearly brushing as they sip from the long, delicate flutes. They’re leaning against a railing overlooking the Mediterranean, surrounded by the orange-pink light of the setting sun, and neither of them is in any hurry to leave. (Their information has been sent back to their home countries, their mark disappeared off the face of the Earth, their gear ditched when possible and stored when not.)

“That gun of yours is incredible,” Iris murmurs.

Lisa sets her glass on the table behind them and shifts to face Iris fully. Her right knee moves to brush the side of Iris’s leg as she sighs, laments, “If only I’d had an excuse to actually use it.”

Iris laughs, sets her own glass aside. She reaches up to cup Lisa’s jaw, thumb brushing across her cheek. “We could go overthrow the regime of a small country,” she offers. “Really put it through its paces.”

Lisa turns her head, presses her lips to Iris’s palm. Her eyes are dark, full of promises that have nothing to do with violence. “I had another idea for what we could do tonight,” she murmurs, and she places a hand on each of Iris’s hips to draw her close.

“Is that so?” Iris challenges, moving her hand to the back of Lisa’s neck. “A raincheck, then.”

“Mm, sounds perfect.” Lisa finally ducks in, and Iris surges up to meet her.

***

 **Q:** 007, you’ve disabled your tracker

 **Q:** 007, where are you

 **Q:** 007

 **Q:** Lisa, seriously, you finished your mission like a week ago

 **Q:** M’s going to kill me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking prompts for all of Flarrow Femslash Week! Hit me up at either lisasneeze, my flash sideblog, or my main blog, weekend-conspiracy-theorist


End file.
